


Shades of Purple

by WriterGirl128



Series: Of Grapefruits and Galra [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: But mostly fluff, But when he puts his mind to it he's actually a huge sap, Fluff and Angst, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith has a small existential crisis and Lance is there to help, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, No Smut, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 03:59:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13802943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterGirl128/pseuds/WriterGirl128
Summary: The team gets worried when Keith doesn't show up to training. Lance insists on being the one to investigate.ORThe obligatory "Keith-gets-nailed-with-some-witchy-voodoo-magic-and-things-start-getting-weird" fic





	Shades of Purple

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is a trope that's been circulated a lot, the whole "Galran energy exposure somehow brings out Keith's Galra-ness" or whatever, but idk man, I was still compelled to do it instead of studying and here we are. 
> 
> It starts out a little more action-y, but if you stick around I promise you'll hit the fluff
> 
> Also Lance loves Keith's cat ears so much okay that is all

When Keith didn’t show up for breakfast, it was… well, they were a little ashamed to admit they hadn’t really _noticed._ They hadn’t worried.

They’d all had a late night, and Pidge was practically sleeping at the table as it was. Lance’s eyes drifted in exhaustion, and Shiro, too, seemed out of it. Even Hunk simply stared down at his bowl of food goo, almost too tired to consider eating at all. They’d spent the previous day on a planet called Neezibon, driving out the Galra forces that had settled there and claimed it as part of the Empire, but it had taken longer than they’d anticipated. It morphed from a quick in-and-out kind of mission to an entire 17-hour _operation_ that had ended with them back on the Castle, orbiting the planet, trying to figure out their final strike. But something threw a wrench in that plan, something they’d never really encountered before.

It had all happened so fast.

One minute they were gathered in the control room, planning out the rapidly-approaching infiltration of the main Galra cruiser. Charts and layouts, blueprints and security footage littered the screens of the Castle, Pidge typing away furiously to maintain their secure connection while Hunk manually operated some sort of pulse emission generator he’d designed to keep the Galra ship from detecting their presence.

But something went wrong. Because in the blink of an eye, chaos erupted, the floor quite literally _tipping_ under them, sending the paladins flying across the room, sliding down the increasingly steep floor.

Pidge had dropped her laptop with a yelp, startled, and Hunk has lost grip of the large, crank-like device.

The Castle of Lions was being attacked.

They hadn’t gotten the particle barrier up in time, and before they could even turn, make haste towards their Lions and pray to the cosmos that Voltron would be enough, Galran soldiers were barging through their doors, blasters charged. The Castle wasn’t just being attacked, it was being _infiltrated._

They’d summoned their bayards, fought for their lives, but it was hard to keep their footing while the Castle tipped precariously under them, often sliding into each other, stumbling on their own feet as they fought. The floor quaking and moving, leaving them disoriented.

And then the witch showed up.

They hadn’t noticed her, at first, with the explosive chaos that surrounded them. They hadn’t noticed her cross through the warzone the mission room had turned into, almost easily, stepping and side-stepping around the active battles with almost no effort at all. The hadn’t noticed her, not until there was a strike of violet-black lightning cracking through the air, and Allura was crumpled on the floor, motionless.

Lance had gotten to her first, as he had been fighting the closest to Allura. But the Altean-turned-druid barely spared him a glance, lips twisting into a smirk while her yellow eyes glinted venomously, extending a hand towards him and quickly slicing it through the air. Lance went flying, hurtling across the room and crashing into the wall with a cry of pain, a crackle of that same dark violet energy enveloping him. He, too, crumpled to the floor, curling in on himself.

Pidge had noticed, somewhere along the lines, what was going on, and managed to get a swipe in at the back of the witch’s knees with her bayar-spade before she, too, was sent flying. Not by magic, but by Haggar wrapping clawed fingers around the collar of her armor, sending a knee into her stomach, and quite literally _flinging_ her through the air.

Pidge was small, sure. But not small enough to toss fifty feet through the air with minimal effort. Always so focused on the strength of her magic, it seemed they had _severely_ underestimated her physical capabilities. Then again, under ten-thousand years of magic and quintessence abuse and Galran corruption, she _was_ Altean.

Luckily Hunk had seen just in time, and managed to open his arms and half-catch, half-cushion Pidge’s fall as they both toppled over to the floor, relatively unharmed despite the way Pidge’s breath was ragged. She put a hand to her side, as if Haggar’s blow had cracked a few ribs, but managed with a grunt of pain to push herself to her feet again with a little help from Hunk. Just in time, as they’d caught the attention of a handful of sentries and didn’t have a breath to hesitate before jumping back into battle.

Shiro was on the other side of the room, nearly surrounded by Galran soldiers. There had to be ten, twelve of them, easy. There was no way he could make it over to the center, he knew, so instead of trying he drew the attention of the soldiers and fought for his damn life, distracting them from the other paladins to give them an opportunity to take down the witch. One versus an easy two dozen. A one-man army.

And then Keith was there, swooping down out of seemingly nowhere with his bayar drawn, slicing it through the air as he got between the witch and Allura. He caught the druid’s cheek as he did, leaving a large gash down her cheekbone, small drops of blood beading to the surface and staining her pale skin red.

The witch let out a growl, jaw tightened, sharp teeth glinting as she summoned more energy, crackling around her fingers for a moment before letting it fly towards him.

It would’ve hit him, too, but he pulled up his shield just in time and it took the brunt of the force. It also, unfortunately, knocked it from his hands and sent it scraping along the floor to the other side of the hangar.

Keith grit his own teeth, lunging forward with his bayar and ducking under another attack, falling to his knees and using the still-tilted floor to his advantage as he slid beneath her, swiping at her legs before stopping his momentum, rolling back up to his feet on the other side of her.

She staggered slightly at the blow, before turning to him again, cruel yellow eyes sharp. “You fight with valor, young paladin,” she hissed, but it was almost—it was almost like she was _praising_ him. Voice gravelly and rough, but the words tinged with something like approval. “Like a true, Galran soldier.”

Keith tightened his jaw again. “I’m not,” he grunted, “I’m not like them.” Once more, he charged at her. But she was more prepared this time and stepped away quickly, a flick of her wrist using his momentum against him and sending him crashing into the control dock behind them.

“Oh,” she sighed, knobby, grey-purple fingers extended once more as again, she summoned the crackling energy around them. “You are. I can smell it on you.”

And she sent the energy flying once more, like soundwave of power, and Keith only barely lifted his bayar in time to somewhat deflect the blast.

He lost grip on the sword and watched with doubling vision and a rattling head as it, too, slid across the hangar and reverted to its normal shape.

He blinked the shock of the blast away, and without hesitation, drew his knife from its sheath around his waist. One hand on the floor to stabilize himself, his fingers wrapped around the leather hilt, the Blade responding to his touch instantly.  Lengthening, extending into a long, double-edged luxite sword that glinted with purple, with power.

He tightened his grip on it, the sword perfectly balanced in his hand, an extension of himself, and _lunged._

He wasn’t sure how long he fought with her, strikes and blows and shocks of bizarre, violet magic blurring together as he moved, letting his instincts take over. It wasn’t until he’d sent the Blade piercing deep, clean through her shoulder that he allowed himself to slow down, take inventory or what was happening.

She didn’t seem to be in too much pain, though, and her face twisted nastily as if it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. But he was close enough, now, for her to get a grip on him with those sparking hands, and when she did his body exploded with pain. He pulled the Blade from her shoulder as he sank weakly down to his knees, his vision littered with black splotches.

There were cold fingers on his face, then, though he’d hardly been able to register it at the time. A thumb pressed to his forehead, right between his eyebrows, and Keith screamed.

The rest of the paladins saw red. Lance had recovered enough, as had Pidge, and even Allura had started to twitch back into consciousness. But his scream drew them out of their own battles, caught their ears, and it was like a switch in their minds, because Keith was _hurt,_ Keith was _screaming,_ and that was not allowed.

The battle hadn’t lasted long after that. The soldiers had dialed it up, and by the time any of them had made their way to the control dock, where Keith was still curled up and trembling on the floor, the witch had all but vanished, apparently content with the damage she had done.

The sentries and the soldiers retreated. Which was concerning, because other than make a scene and bring destruction, hurting them somewhere along the way, they hadn’t really… done anything. Nothing that they could determine, yet, anyways.

Shiro and Hunk didn’t waste any time in loading Allura and Keith into cryo-pods as soon as the chaos had ended, while Coran kept an eye on the sensors to assure the Galra fleet was retreating and not planning another ambush. They’d convinced Lance and Pidge to climb into pods, as well, for their respective concussion and cracked ribs.

It had only taken an hour or so for Lance to wake up, and another forty minutes for Pidge. Allura woke up next, about an hour and a half later, looking disoriented and weak. Keith had been a little longer, stumbling out wearily hours later, deep into the night. Barely conscious enough to take note of the tan skin, the concerned blue eyes of Lance as he helped him to his room and set him down carefully on his bed. He was passed out, sleeping, before Lance had even taken his shoes off for him.

Keith had easily taken the brunt of the damage from the attack, followed closely by Allura, who even the next day, held weary, glazed-over eyes as she thanked her paladins for what they’d done. But they didn’t grow concerned about Keith’s absence until hours later, after breakfast, when they’d meant to start training and still hadn’t seen any sign of him. Which was unnervingly _unlike Keith._ Who trained on their off days, who trained in his free time, who trained any chance he got.

Lance had been insistent on being the one to fetch him, to check on him, chest tight with concern. Concern that only grew tighter when he knocked gently on Keith’s door, and received no hint of a response.

His eyebrows drew together as he leaned his head closer, listening hard. “Keith?” he called in, knocking again, a little harder. “Buddy? You alive in there?”

“ _Go away.”_

Lance blinked, the harsh tone and nearly growled words making his heart jump unsteadily. It beat a little faster in his chest, and his eyebrows drew together over wide, worried eyes. “Are you—are you okay, man?”

“Fine.” The word was barely more than a grunt. “Just _go away.”_

But something crawled under his skin, and he shook his head. “Keith—”

“ _Please,”_ he cut Lance off, and it was a ragged word, desperate and pleading, but also small in a way that Lance was _certain_ he’d never heard from the Red Paladin before. He imagined Keith shaking his head, gripping his fingers tightly around something, anything, as he repeated the word. “Please. Please go away, Lance. I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.” The word left Lance’s lips before he realized, but there was a crack in Keith’s voice where there’d definitely never been before, a dangerous warble that sank into Lance’s stomach like a lead weight. There was something akin to a _whimper_ from the other side of the door, and that was it _,_ that was Lance’s threshold for _family in pain,_ and he was reaching for the doorknob and pushing his way in, deaf to the insistent and more-panicked-by-the-tick, “ _no, no, no, no, no”_ from inside.

“Ready or not, here I—” he began, as he pushed the door open enough to slip in, but the words froze as he caught sight of the other paladin. “—come,” he finished lamely, the door swinging shut behind him.

The curtains were drawn so it was a dark inside, but Lance’s eyes landed immediately on Keith’s. Wide, wavering eyes. Scared eyes, that couldn’t seem to focus, that were startled as he stood, hand half outstretched, as if still trying to reach for the door and keep it shut. Dark irises blown with wide pupils, surrounded by something that glinted. Glowing, slightly. Golden yellow cutting through the darkness, vivid and strong despite the way even Keith’s gaze seemed to be physically shaking. A deer in the headlights in every sense of the word, topped off with wide, glowing yellow _Galra_ eyes.

Somewhere in the back of his head, Lance thought numbly, _well at least you could still see those pretty purple irises of his._

But then the yellow disappeared, Keith closing his eyes in a wince. There was a beat of silence and Lance saw his hand drop back down to his side, and there was something _odd_ clenching in Lance’s chest, some new, foreign sensation he wasn’t sure he knew how to name. His heart beat a little faster, his palms clammy, and he swallowed. Still, he couldn’t find words.

As if taking his silence as enough of a response, Keith retreated quickly, turning his back to Lance and crossing to the bed, rubbing a hand along his arm. He was nervous. It radiated off of him as he started to pace, eyes open again but never looking to the Blue Paladin.

Lance found his breath, again, after a moment, and watched Keith carefully. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, what he was feeling, as he shuffled in the darkness. The only light a slight, yellow gleam from his eyes. He steadied his breath. “Keith?” he asked softly, and his hand skimmed over the wall to his right, looking for the switch. He had his suspicions as to why it was off in the first place, he just hoped he was wrong. “Bud? I’m gonna turn the lights on, okay?”

Keith’s head snapped up to him, eyes even wider than they were when Lance had first barged in. “No,” he denied, his voice gaining back a little of the steadiness it usually held, “ _no,_ Lance—don’t—!”

But it was too late, and Lance’s fingers pushed the light switch with a soft _click._

Lance wasn’t wrong.

Again, they both seemed to freeze in tandem, Lance in surprise and Keith in _panic._  He didn’t remember when, exactly, he stopped breathing, but he didn’t start again until a painful amount of ticks later. When Keith finally came back from wherever that pure _horror_ in his eyes took him, and he backed away slowly, until he bumped into the bed behind him and he sank down to its edge dejectedly. He dropped his face into his hands, and Lance exhaled in a rush, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

Breathing again, quickly and shallowly, Lance blinked at him. “You’re _purple,”_ he blurted, and really, he’d meant for the observation to stay locked up tight in his head.

Something between a groan and a growl sounded from Keith’s throat, and lifted his face from his hands to glare at the younger paladin. “Thanks, sharpshooter,” he said coolly, and Lance had the feeling he hadn’t really meant it, the words grit out around sharp, clenched teeth. “I hadn’t _noticed.”_ Yeah that was—that was definitely sarcasm.

Lance hesitated a moment before stepping closer, eyes narrowing slightly as he peered at Keith. His skin was this rich shade of lavender—a beautiful shade, really, not very dark, yet definitely dark enough to very obviously be deemed _purple._ He was still in his sleeping clothes, just shorts and a t-shirt, so Lance could see that, no, it wasn’t just his face. It was… everything. Exposed long limbs, painted with a lovely, cool lilac that was somehow still warm, still looked so soft. His face was flushed with it, a deeper violet that crept up his neck and dusted his cheeks fiercely. Blushing, like he was embarrassed under Lance’s wandering gaze.

His eyes weren’t glowing, as much, now that the light was on, though they still had a glint to them that was almost hypnotic. He’d always had dark, intriguing eyes, some kind of cross between indigo and plum, but now… they was intoxicating, to look at. Dark and mysterious, laid out on a bed of pale yellow. But also familiar, in a very real and important way. Lance could probably stare into those eyes for _eons._

But he forced himself _not to,_ right, because there was a _person_ connected to those eyes, a person who was having something as close to a real-life existential crisis that Lance had ever witnessed. A person who was still glaring at him, with those beautiful eyes, a person whose fingers—newly tipped with short, deadly-looking claws—were curled into the edge of the bed, puncturing straight through the sheets with ease. A person who looked like he was ready to turn tail and _sprint,_ away from Lance, away from everyone and everything, like it was taking everything in him, every modicum of willpower he had to fight away the urge to run and _hide._

Lance’s heart still thrummed loudly in his ears, still slightly overwhelmed with what he was seeing, but he forced himself to swallow it down, to push it away. Because Keith’s glare was starting to waver, to tremble, and that—well, that _couldn’t_ be a good sign, in any universe. Because if there was any member of the team that could school his face into neutrality on a dime, that was as close as someone can get to being an expert at keeping emotions from shining through their expression, it was _Keith._ Orphaned, stubborn, repressed as hell but a big ol’ softie who’s just as much of a dork as the rest of them _Keith._

Lance was about to finally break the silence, about to ask _what, what_ happened, _how did this happen._ But he couldn’t form the words, entirely, and instead they left his lips as nothing more than half-shaped air.

But it was enough. Because the slight sound, the quietest of whispers, made something twitch slightly, something Lance hadn’t noticed yet, and the words that finally came tumbling out of his mouth were, “Oh, quiznak, your _ears.”_

Because there they were, big, fluffy purple things jutting out from his messy black hair, currently pinned down flat as his glare steadied once more and he made a small noise, another growl. “I _swear to God,_ Lance—”

But Lance was already stepping closer again, peering at them as he sank down to the bed next to Keith. “Your _ears,_ Keith,” he said again, and this impossible wave of… _something_ rolled over him. Affection? Guilt? Sympathy and adoration, all rolled into one? Possessiveness? He wasn’t sure what, but it made his heart stutter in his chest as he lifted a hand. Something giddy bubble up in his stomach. “Can I _touch—”_

 _“No,”_ Keith barked, smacking his hand away, but his ears had _twitched_ slightly, when Lance spoke, perking up a bit at the sound of his voice and if that wasn’t the most adorable fucking thing in the universe, Lance wasn’t sure what was.

“But, _Keith,_ they’re so—”

“—don’t you dare—”

“— _cute!_ And amazing and incredible, and just, just let me—”

Another snarl, another smack to his hand, and Lance dragged his gaze from the ears, albeit reluctantly. He sobered up, a little, though, when Keith drew back into himself, averting his own gaze while his shoulders deflated, like he wanted to collapse on himself. He stayed silent for a moment, before shaking his head, his ears relaxed a bit and no longer pinned flat in his irritation. “This isn’t _amazing and incredible,_ Lance. This is horrible.”

The Blue Paladin could see the frustration in his eyes, in the planes of his violet-flushed face, and winced sympathetically. Something heavy settled in his chest, and he shook his head. “It’s not horrible,” he denied.

Foreign yet familiar eyes cut to him and stared at him blankly. “I’m _purple.”_

Lance smiled a little. “Yep.”

He lifted his hands and tugged at the fluffy ears on top of his head—something Lance _really_ wished he’d be allowed to do, at some point, because quiznak, something alien had no right to be that goddamn cute, alright it just wasn’t fair. Still, Keith did it with disdain in his eyes, pulling them down as if that would make them shrink and return to their proper homes. But when he let go, they popped right back up, wiggling slightly, twitching as they peeked out of his hair. “I have _giant alien ears_ and glowing eyes,” he continued, and that new, strange desperation was in his voice again, like it was clogging his throat. “I’m not even—I’m not even fully Galra, how can it be _this bad?”_

Lance considered the question carefully, because really, Keith had a point. He was, at _most,_ half Galra. It was more likely that he was less than that, especially since he’d never shown a single sign of being Galra. Not physically, at least.  Y’know. Until _right now._

“It’s not _that bad._ The eyes aren’t really noticeable with the lights on,” he offered, a small comfort. “And the ears—”

“— _careful—”_

 _“_ —are _adorable,”_ he said, the word insistent. He paused, then, narrowing his eyes slightly as he thought. After a moment, he rose from his seat. “Hey, stand up for me.”

Keith made a noise, and it was less of a growl and more of a groan, so Lance took it as _progress._ “Why?”

He rolled his eyes. “Just do it, grapefruit.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed into slits, but he did as he was asked. “Grapefruits are _pink,_ sharpshooter,” he muttered as he reluctantly rose to his feet. “Not purple.”

Lance frowned, weighing the words. “Pretty sure you’re wrong.”

“Pretty sure I’m not.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Just—come here, okay?” When he did, Lance allowed his smile to return. He leaned over, resting his arm on Keith’s shoulder. “You’re still too short to be full Galra,” he pointed out triumphantly. “That’s something.”

Keith snorted bitterly, his ears lowering slightly. “Yeah,” he agreed, but made no move to push Lance’s arm away, and it made Lance’s smile flicker because _wow this was really getting to him._ Not that Lance could blame him, exactly, but—that didn’t mean it didn’t worry the pants off him.

His chest twinged guiltily and he shifted, turning the other paladin to face him more directly. He tried to catch his eyes, but Keith’s gaze dropped low, lingering on his feet. “Hey.” Lance’s voice had dropped, tone softening into something more sincere. He made a point to ignore the way one of his ears perked up slightly his voice. He drew his arm back slowly, so that his hand rested on Keith’s shoulder.  A show of solidarity. “It’ll be fine.”

“But I—I’m—” He broke off.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Part Galra?” he suggested, finishing the thought, his voice still quiet. “That’s not news, Keith. To any of us.”

Keith pressed his lips together tightly for a moment, the words hanging in the air. His ears twitched slightly. Lance resisted the urge to lunge for them and sink his fingers into the soft looking tufts of fur, because _damn it, Lance, focus_. _Help Keith first,_ then _try to pet his ears._  

A moment passed before Keith responded. “I told Hunk I wasn’t an alien.”

Lance blinked. “You… huh?”

“When we went to go get the scaultrite,” he explained, frowning at his feet. Again, his ears lowered slightly, pressing against his head. “He kept—he kept calling me an alien and I told him I wasn’t.” He lifted his hands, glaring down at his purple fingers, the sharpened claws that protruded from the ends. “Don’t really think that’s gonna fly, anymore.”

“Keith, you’re not an alien. You’re from _Earth,_ you grew up on Earth.”

Keith looked up, just for a second, somehow skeptical and deadpanned at the same time. “Purple,” he said flatly. “Ears. Eyes. Claws.”

A pause, the words rolling around in his head. “So you’re an alien,” Lance relented, and shrugged. “Part alien. Enough that _this_ whole thing can happen.” He gestured generally at Keith, who winced, dropping his gaze again. “But so what _?_ You’re still _Keith.”_

“Am I?” The words were muttered, and Lance suspected they weren’t meant to be said out loud. But they were, and no, he was _not_ about to allow Keith to think that way.

“Of course you are.” The way the words fell easily from his lips made Keith shift slightly, gaze lifting to Lance’s again, but wavering and unsure. The younger paladin raised his eyebrows again. “Allura and Coran are aliens,” he reminded him.  

Keith kind of blinked at that, like it was something he’d forgotten.  But it didn’t last, and a tick or two later, his expression darkened again. “They’re Alteans. They’re—different. Better.”

“Because they’re not Galra?”

Keith didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes.

Lance took a breath. “Look. They’ve done some pretty horrible things, and I get that. But you’re not _them_. And you’re not _bad_ or _evil_ or _less than_ because of what’s in your blood. And you’re not—” He broke off, words failing. He shook his head. “It’s not like you’re suddenly more Galra than you’ve been for the past eighteen years. You’re just as Galra—and just as human _—_ as you’ve been your whole life. This doesn’t change that, it just…” He trailed off, eyes wandering over his face, again, down the length of his arms. “It’s just a little more obvious, now, is all.”

Again, Keith’s lips pressed together tightly, and he ducked his head. “Yeah,” he agreed, though it sounded like it was more for Lance’s benefit than his own. “Maybe.”

A beat of silence passed, and another. Lance scuffed his shoe against the floor, shifting, something twisting in his stomach again as he watched the Red Paladin. The longer the silence stretched on, the more he seemed to _retreat,_ internally, away from the situation and the encouragement and assurances, away from Lance. His ears were flat against his hair, again, his gaze low and eyebrows drawn together, casting shadows over his wavering eyes.

He needed a distraction.

Lance squeezed his shoulder. “C’mon,” he said, and cracked a grin at his fellow paladin, “you must be hungry, right? Spent all of last night in the healing pods, and you skipped breakfast. Some food goo will do you some good, and then we can head over to training with the rest of the guys—”

“What?” Keith cut him off, eyes wide again, incredulous. He shook his head once, twice. “No—no, no. No way.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “To the food goo? Or to training?”

“ _Both,”_ Keith hissed, and his eyes narrowed, ears flicking irritably. “I can’t—I can’t just…” He lifted his hand to gesture at the door, as if saying _I can’t go out there like this,_ but the words never followed.

The Blue Paladin sighed. “So, what? You’re just gonna lock yourself away forever?”

Keith dropped his arm, eyes still narrowed despite the way they lowered slightly. “Not forever,” he muttered, “just until it goes away.”

“And what if it doesn’t?” he questioned, and Keith winced. “What if it doesn’t go away?”

There was a pause, and Keith shifted form foot to foot. “It has to,” he insisted, but his voice was unsure. “I’m not _supposed_ to be this way. Haggar did something to me when she hit me with that spell.”

Lance sighed, Keith’s insistence that things would go back to normal tugging at his chest. The last thing this boy needed was more disappointment in his life. “Maybe,” he exhaled, and shook his head. “Maybe not. Maybe she didn’t _do_ anything—maybe being exposed to her magic just kinda… woke up dormant Galra traits, or something. Maybe it’s irreversible. We have no idea. But you know who might?”

Keith closed his eyes, a groan rumbling from his chest. “Don’t say it.”

“Coran,” Lance continued, raising his eyebrows. “And Allura.”

His closed eyes opened slightly, narrowed and sharp. “She couldn’t look at me for almost _two weeks_ when Shiro and I got back from the Blade of Marmora’s base,” he reminded him, and his words were a little low, a little growly. “You think she’d spare a _tick_ to try and help me now? Me? The enemy?”

“You are _not_ the enemy.” The words were instantaneous and adamant. Lance hadn’t thought twice, hadn’t hesitated.

“But I’m—”

“—a Paladin of Voltron,” Lance cut him off. “And Allura’s planet was destroyed. And her culture was decimated, and she was _hurting,_ and she took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that, and she realized that, and she put in the effort to _be better._ She’s not going to throw that away just because you look a little bit more _Galra-y_ than you used to.”

Keith hesitated. Dropped his gaze slightly. “I’m not good for Voltron,” he said, and it sounded like a half-hearted warning. “Red deserves someone better than me.”

“Red chose _you_. She knew everything about you she needed to _._ She knew you’re the best pilot that’s walked through the halls of the Garrison. She knew you have a will of steel and this incredible drive to do something _good,_ something that _matters._ She knew you have this heart of gold despite all the shit that life’s handed you. And if I had to put money on it, I’d be willing to bet she knew you were Galra the first time she saw you. And she still chose you because it didn’t _matter,_ because you belong with her, and you belong on this team, and because you were born to be a paladin. _Her_ paladin. You belong with us _,_ Keith, we’re your _family._ ”

Keith blinked at the words, and his eyes were unreadable but his ears had perked up slightly and—man, Lance could get used to having those ears display, clear as day, whatever emotions Keith worked so hard to hide. A beat of silence passed between them, Keith’s eyes locked on his in some odd, rare moment of vulnerability.

And then Keith cracked a smile, for the first time since Lance had barged into the dark room, and it was _small,_ but his teeth were human again and Lance suspected maybe they only got sharp like that when he was annoyed or angry or frustrated. Which he wasn’t, anymore—at least, not for the time being. “Careful, sharpshooter,” he murmured, but his eyes never drifted. “Your heart eyes are showing.”

Lance’s heart hitched slightly, beating faster in his chest as again, Keith’s ears twitched slightly. He wondered numbly if his hearing had changed enough to pick up on something like that, and felt heat creep up his neck. That would be embarrassing. “What can I say?” he teased, pushing it away and allowing himself his own smile. “I’ve always been a cat person. Can’t stand seeing them sad and distressed.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed into a glare, but it wasn’t sharp, and there was no heat to it. “Seriously?”

“Mhmm,” he hummed, “my mami always had dogs around but—”

And the words broke off. Because Keith was kissing him.

 _Keith._ Was kissing _him._ And he was mid-sentence so he froze, momentarily, lips smushed awkwardly as he lost all of the breath in his body and took him a tick to gather his thoughts. Because. Okay. Yeah. This was happening.

Slowly he came back to himself and closed his eyes, leaning into the kiss further and allowing his lips to relax against Keith’s. A cool hand touched his neck, fingers twisting gently into the hair at the nape of his neck for a moment before shifting slightly, cupping his jaw and pulling him down deeper, closer, and Lance was sure he’d died and gone to bizarro-world Space Heaven. Because there was no way Keith’s hands were this gentle, no way his battle-hardened fingers could actually be this _soft,_ this careful.

He pulled away slightly, breaking the kiss after a moment, and the most endearing noise of protest he’d ever heard escaped Keith’s lips. He tried to keep the pull of a grin at bay, but made no effort to put distance between them, instead curling a hand around the small of his back and rubbing his thumb in small circles.

But Keith was _smiling_ at him, and looking at him with those stupid hypnotic eyes, and there was a pretty purple blush darkened on his cheeks and his ears were perked up happily and _quiznak_ , if he kept looking at him like that Lance was sure he’d melt down to a puddle of goo. Coran would have to mop him up off the floor.

Keith seemed to realize it too, because his smile stretched into a challenging grin and he leaned forward again, using his hand— _which was still cupping Lance’s jaw—_ to pull him closer once more.

Lance almost lost every ounce of willpower. Almost. But again, he broke the kiss, drawing another noise of protest from Keith’s throat, this one more of a small growl and—yeah. If the growling was a Galran thing, Lance could definitely get used to that new development.

“Wait,” he exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment, regaining his composure. “Hold on.”

When he opened his eyes again, the smile had flickered from Keith’s face and his ears had lowered slightly, nervously.

He smiled again, hoping to reassure him that he was—well, he was _very_ okay with… whatever was happening. “I just…” he trailed off, not really knowing how to phrase his concern. “This isn’t just…”

Keith tilted his head slightly, inquisitively. His eyebrows drew together.

“This isn’t just something connected to the whole—” He gestured to him vaguely. “Galra transformation, right? Like, if—if it was _Hunk,_ or _Pidge_ that had come in to find you and comfort you, you wouldn’t’ve—”

But Keith cut him off again with a kiss, and Lance had a feeling that was going to start happening a lot.

Keith pulled back first, this time. “It’s been a—weird day,” he murmured, and frowned a little as he watched him, waiting for some kind of reaction. “I figured, if I was ever gonna lay everything on the table, might as well be now. I mean. I’m purple.” He tilted his head slightly, a half-shrug. “Why not make things a little weirder?”

Lance smiled at him, and gave a slight shake of his head. “It’s not weird.” And it wasn’t. It was—it was _right._ His voice was full of affection when he sighed and assured, “Cat boy, it’s not weird at all.”

Keith narrowed his eyes, pulling back slightly. He shook his head. “You’re relentless.”

Lance’s smile split into a grin and he shrugged. “It’s one of my many charms.”

He raised his eyebrows at that, amused, and gave him a nod. But there was something sincere in Keith’s eyes, and he felt like he could hold this boy for the rest of his life and it still wouldn’t be enough. “I suppose it is,” he agreed after a stretch of silence.

Lance pulled him closer again, bending his neck down and capturing Keith’s mouth with his own, and it was warm, and it was real, and it was wonderful.

They hadn’t noticed when they sank down to the bed, pressed together like that’s where they were meant to be. Not until finally, reluctantly, Lace broke away from him, fingers curled around the hem of Keith’s shirt as he sat back on his heels. “We really should get you some food,” he exhaled, slightly breathless. “And get back to the rest of the team. They’re probably worried.”

And Keith hesitated again, ears immediately dropping to press flat against his hair.

Lance squeezed his knee. “It’ll be _fine,”_ he assured him again, his voice low and honest. “I promise. It’s all going to be fine.” He slid off the bed, taking hold of Keith’s arm and tugging him out. “C’mon, grapefruit—waiting longer is just gonna get you all stressed out in your head about it.”

Growling slightly, Keith allowed Lance to pull him to his feet. “Grapefruits are still pink,” he muttered.

“Pretty sure you’re still wrong.”

“Pretty sure I’m not.”

And Keith’s eyes were narrowed into a glare, but his ears were standing happily, so Lance knew he wasn’t really that annoyed with him. They twitched slightly when Lance grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers, and some of the tension in Keith’s shoulders melted away. His eyes were softer, now, than they had been, and the flush of violet in his cheeks had faded into a nice pale lavender. Lilac? He’d be sure to take a _shades-of-purple_ refresher course.

But, quiznak, those ears should be illegal.

Keith touched his face lightly with his free hand. “You’re staring again.”

Lance mentally checked to make sure he hadn’t been gaping (he wasn’t) and had the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry.”

But Keith only continued to watch him, for a moment. And, with a sigh, he relented. “ _Fine,”_ he permitted, dropping his hands. “Go ahead.”

Lance frowned. “What are you—”

One of Keith’s ears twitched, and he closed his eyes in defeat.

Lance gasped. He literally _gasped_ in joy, a grin stretching across his face, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Really?”

Keith raised his eyebrows, still not opening his eyes. “Not if you make it weird, no.”

“It’s already _weird,”_ Lance insisted, but wasted no time in reaching forward, sinking his fingers into Keith’s hair. “We’re doing weird, today _, idiota_ , that’s the point.” He ran his fingers along Keith’s scalp for a moment, running the soft hair through his fingers as they gently worked towards his ears—

\--which responded to his touch, folding back as he scratched though the soft fur with both hands and a strangled noise. “ _Keith,”_ he groaned, shaking his head, “Keith, this shouldn’t be allowed, alien ears should not be _allowed_ to be _…_ wait, are you—are you _purring?”_

And Keith jumped away, leaving Lance’s fingers empty once more, eyes wide any slightly—comically—horrified. “No.”

Lance wasn’t sure it was possible to grin any wider than he did in that moment. “You _totally_ were.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“My god, you really are a cat. You’re a space cat.”

There was a flash of slightly sharpened teeth as Keith glared, but his ears still twitched contentedly and yeah, Lance could get used to that.

There was a beat of silence where they just held each other’s gazes, Lance’s eyes bright and amused, Keith’s sharp and hard. Like they were challenging each other. See who could hold out the longest.

Slowly, Keith raised a single finger and pointed it at him. “Not. One. _Word.”_

“Whatever you say, space cat.”

A low growl. “I swear to God, Lance.”

Lance’s cheeks were starting to hurt from grinning so hard, but he knew it, he _won,_ and man, this was the greatest day ever. “So I get to touch them again?”

Keith grunted, a short sound of neither permission or denial, but let his hands fall to his sides again. He lowered his glare, looking very reluctant when he narrowed his eyes further and muttered, “‘Course you do.”

Grin fading to something less giddy and more genuine, Lace reached for his hands and caught them in his own. Keith looked up at him as Lance pulled him close again, pressing their lips together, soft at first but then more insistent. Almost instantly, the pinched, tight expression Keith wore melted into something serene and blissful, and he smiled as he returned the kiss happily.

And when they finally made their way to the training deck to meet up with the others, the rest of the team wasn’t sure what surprised them more—the fact that Keith was this pretty shade of lavender and had alien ears, or the fact that his fingers were entwined with Lance’s as if that’s where they were always meant to be.

Probably the former. The latter, well. They’d seen that coming since day one.

**Author's Note:**

> I love the idea of Keith using the title of "sharpshooter" as a nickname for Lance whenever he's being, ah--let's say less than observant. I mean, my boy's bright, yes, but we all know he can be a little dense sometimes too.
> 
> The idea of Lance not knowing what color a grapefruit is??? Seems hilarious to me??? Like can you imagine:  
> "They're PURPLE, Keith, why else would they be called GRAPEfruits?"  
> "Have you ever seen a grapefruit, Lance, in real life? Have you? I don't think you have."  
> "GRAPE-fruit, Keith."  
> "Grapes can be green, too, you idiot. Doesn't make grapefruit green."
> 
> And then when Keith finally shows him a real-life grapefruit, Lance just looks... so betrayed.  
> "The outside is--is orange and the inside is PINK"  
> "That's why I've been telling you, babe."  
> "Who allowed this?! Why would they call them grapefruits if they aren't--this is--this is so wrong!"  
> "I think you'll be okay."
> 
> Ok that's my shitpost for the day, let me know what you think!
> 
> **EDIT: Should I do part II? Make it a series? Let me know! Ideas are a'brewin' **


End file.
